by Megan Crane
“Unless one of the unaccounted-for members of Alaska Force went ahead and staged the scene for the express purpose of shifting focus off of you.”
“One, there are no unaccounted-for members of Alaska Force. You might not know where they were, but we do, and could prove it if necessary.” Templeton shifted, because there was never enough room for his legs. “Second, walk me through how this works. If we’re behind all this, we torch our own stuff and a random cabin, light a boat on fire in the place where we live, and then, after attracting all that attention, shove it away from us by staging a murder scene to implicate someone else. That seems pretty convoluted.”
Kate’s smile was icy. “The thing about criminals is no matter how smart they are about one thing or another, they almost always find a way to be dumb.”
“Then lay out this case for me.” Templeton nodded at the dashboard as if they were standing in an incident room. “Pretend I’m, God forbid, a lawyer, and you need to convince me to prosecute. What’s the story?”
Kate rubbed at her forehead. “I’m not saying I have an airtight case. I’m saying that’s the obvious first question when you tell me Alaska Force couldn’t have done it because I was there. The fact is, I can’t think of a particularly good reason why you and your friends would suddenly turn to abducting transients from ferries, murdering them, and leaving them around for people to find. Whatever else I might think of you, that certainly doesn’t fit your MO.”
“Damned with faint praise,” Templeton murmured.
“I’ll tell you what I told my captain.” She tilted her chin up a little as she spoke, as if this was hard for her. “I think that it makes sense to give some serious side-eye to private military companies of any size, no matter their mission parameters or their glossy websites touting their commitment to their supposed values. Whatever those are. I have a deep and abiding distrust for secretive militias. But I’ve been studying you and your friends for the past six months, and I don’t see it. I might not be an enthusiastic supporter of the work you do, but as much as it’s possible to do that work aboveboard and right, I think you do it.”
“Why, Trooper Holiday. You are fixing to make a grown man blush.”
She frowned. “Once I accepted that I didn’t think you were responsible for the uptick in arson—though I do think you require significantly more local oversight—I had to ask myself who was.”
“Did you figure it out?”
“Yes, Templeton, I solve crime in my sleep. It’s uncanny. I have a dream and just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“criminals are apprehended and justice is restored to the land.”
“Your dreams are much more exciting than mine,” he said.
And then watched, to his astonished delight, as his trooper . . . burst into flame.
He saw the bright red flush roll over her, making her eyes glitter even as the faintest beads of perspiration gathered at her temples. And along her upper lip. And he couldn’t see the rest of her lean body, but he had absolutely no doubt she turned that same color everywhere.
Everywhere.
“Apparently much more exciting,” he murmured.
She scowled at him and jabbed at her window, letting a burst of cold air into the car. “I always get overheated while sitting still in winter.”
“Sure you do.”
She jabbed at the window again, closing it. With prejudice. “I’ve investigated a lot of questionable groups. Any one of them could have regrouped in some form or another and focused their attention back on me. I have to admit it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
“But you think your own family is outside the realm of possibility?” Templeton asked.
“What’s your family like?” she retorted. “I notice you’re sitting here in a car with me in Juneau a week before Christmas. Not planning to head back home to sing all those Christmas carols around the family tree.”
“For all you know I could be flying out tomorrow.”
“Are you?”
“There’s nothing for me in the South,” Templeton said, easily enough.
“Does that mean that you don’t have any relatives? Or that you have a complicated relationship with them that you’d rather not go into detail about with a stranger?”
“You’re the one who had all those background files. I think you know perfectly well that my father is doing a life sentence in Mississippi. And no, Trooper, I’m not planning to go take part in a Parchman family Christmas event. If I’m feeling sentimental I’ll watch Shawshank Redemption a few more times, sing myself a Christmas carol, and call the whole thing merry enough.”
And to his surprise, Kate laughed.
Had he heard her laugh before? Not in the course of asking more questions or proving how little affected she was by finding herself surrounded by people she considered desperate commandos, but a real laugh?
It hit him the same way that unexpected blush had. It seemed to arrow its way inside him, then headed straight for his sex—which was already a little too interested in how close they were sitting, here in this car with its fogged-up windows.
“I hope you don’t spend a lot of time trying to convince people how fine you are while your father is sitting in a prison cell,” she said when she finished laughing. “Here’s what I know about having a father rotting away in jail. It sucks. It doesn’t matter what I think about the man. It doesn’t matter that I’m proud of the fact that I’m the one who put him there and consider that chapter of my life closed. Those are things I think. What I feel when I think about the fact that a good chunk of my relatives and both of my parents are either still in jail or ex-cons is shame.”
Templeton felt his body shift, the way it did when he was ready for combat. He went still. Alert.
“You shouldn’t feel any shame for what they did,” he told her.
Her intent gaze slammed into his chest with the force of a bullet. “I appreciate that. But I think you know that I was talking about you.”
“Here’s the thing, Trooper. I’m shame-free. Shameless, in fact.”
“Of course you are.”
Templeton grinned widely and settled back against the seat. “You don’t have to believe me. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Let me see if I’m remembering your file correctly,” she said, but she never shifted that steady gaze from his face. And once again, Templeton had the notion that there wasn’t a whole lot Kate Holiday forgot. “Your father went to jail when you were very young. Your mother moved you out of state. And when she died, she had so successfully broken all ties with any remaining family members that you were put into foster care. But you have no feelings about that.”
“You’re not the only person who’s come to terms with their childhood, Kate.”
“You were eighteen the last time you were arrested, following your juvenile offenses that landed you in enough trouble that your only choice if you wanted to stay out of jail was to join the army.”
“I considered becoming a priest. But there are some appetites a man doesn’t want forgiven, if you know what I mean.”
She rolled her eyes. And Templeton really couldn’t have said why he found that more of a turn-on than any other woman’s kiss.
“You have a chestful of medals, which they don’t hand out for picnics in the park. We’ve already covered your childhood. But you’re . . . fine.”
“Is this a competition?” he asked mildly, but he was still too alert. Too ready for the next attack. Or any attack. For a full-on arsenal and an army to wield it. “Because you just finished telling me how fine you are.”
“I said I don’t look back. And I’m fine because I don’t laze around, making sexually charged remarks, grinning and laughing like it’s my job, and acting like life is a party.”
“Maybe you should.”
He could see
the exact moment it occurred to his uptight little trooper that she’d veered far, far off course of anything that could possibly be called professional. Her eyes widened fractionally, and then there was nothing between them but the sound of the car’s engine. The sound of her breath.
And the wild sensation it took him long moments to realize was his own pulse, racketing around like he wasn’t a trained professional.
Like he didn’t have rules.
But the rules were in place because once upon a time, he’d gotten involved on a job and it had ended badly. Very badly. That hadn’t kept him from having sex. It had made him very careful about having sex only with women he had no emotional or professional attachment to, so everyone stayed safe.
Now that he considered it, the emotional attachment had been the real problem. That had been what had messed everything up before, because he’d lost his focus. But Templeton was sure he didn’t have that in him anymore. Sex didn’t make him lose his focus these days. It made him better able to focus because he was relaxed.
This thing with Kate was fine, Templeton assured himself. Because tension like this would explode. That was what it did. And once it did, once he tasted her, this madness would subside and he could keep doing what he did best, which was solve unsolvable problems.
It was as good as done.
And he didn’t want to talk about prison. Or any part of the past he’d merrily turned his back on years ago.
So maybe that was why he took his life in his hands—something he happened to be very, very good at—and moved his arm from around the back of her seat so he could slide his fingers lightly over those cheekbones that had been driving him nuts for more than ten days now.
She caught her breath. He thought maybe he caught his, too.
Everything between them tightened. The dark night outside pressed in harder, until there was nothing but her soft skin, her warm flesh. Her wide, pretty brown eyes. That mouth of hers that dropped ever so slightly open.
He traced the faintest pattern. Once, then again.
“Sergeant,” she breathed. “If you do not remove your hand, I will take out my gun and shoot it off.”
He believed her.
But he was also tied up in knots over this woman, which couldn’t go on, and if that wasn’t reason enough to risk a bullet, he didn’t know what was. He risked his life all the time. What was once more, and for a far better reason?
To untie the knots. And fast-forward to the relaxing part.
Among other things.
“If you’re going to shoot me anyway, might as well make it worth it,” he drawled.
And then he bent his head toward her, holding her cheek right there where he wanted it, and got his mouth on his trooper at last.
Eight
This was impossible.
It was unacceptable.
It was—
Hot.
Templeton’s mouth worked a dark and wicked magic, moving over hers with a lazy insistence that made Kate crumble.
Then melt. Everywhere.
Her head shorted out. That was the only explanation.
She was malfunctioning, clearly. That was why she was too hot all over again, flushed to the breaking point the way she’d been when he’d mentioned her dreams, except this—
This was so much worse.
Better, something gleeful and deeply feminine inside contradicted her.
He wasn’t hesitant. He wasn’t particularly careful. If he had a single inhibition, it wasn’t apparent in the way he kissed.
Templeton Cross kissed her as if he already knew the fastest way to get her naked. He kissed her as if he planned to be inside her, and soon. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, and with so much heat and fire that Kate didn’t understand how they didn’t both ignite where they sat.
He cupped her face in one big hand, holding her there with that same lazy ease, as if he was in no rush. As if he could sit there, tasting her like this, forever.
And Kate had been kissed before. The few times she’d attempted to have a relationship had involved all kinds of kissing, none of which she could remember now if her life depended on it. It all seemed so pale and fumbling in comparison. Tentative and forgettable.
But Templeton kissed the way he laughed. Big. Huge.
He took her over, crowding out everything else, until she thought that if she let go—surrendered—it might be possible to simply tip herself over into the kiss itself. And the more he kissed her, the more she found it hard to remember why that was probably a bad idea.
Meanwhile, sensations stormed through her, lighting up parts of her body she’d long since accepted didn’t work. Not the way everyone else’s did. As her last almost-boyfriend had been certain to tell her.
Templeton kissed her until she forgot her deficiencies. Until she forgot why it was so unwise to meet every slow, lazy thing he did with his mouth with her own.
Until she found herself pressing forward, demanding more, almost moaning with need—
But Kate didn’t need anything. Or anyone.
That was the defining truth of her life, ever since she’d gotten away from her family.
The word need washed over her like an ice-cold shower, and she wrenched herself away from him, expecting there to be some resistance—
But there wasn’t. Templeton let her go instantly, which made her flush all over again, because if he hadn’t been holding her, and making that happen, that meant she’d been doing it herself.
“Have you lost your mind?” Kate demanded, her voice soft with rage. Horror. And all the rest of those jangly things that flashed around inside of her, so hard and bright she was half-afraid that her bones would break from the effort of keeping it all in.
“I don’t think so,” Templeton rumbled, all that laughter in his voice. “Though I expect I’d be the last to know if I had, right?”
“You put your mouth on an investigator—”
“I didn’t simply put my mouth on you, Kate.” And again, there was so much laughter in his voice and in his gaze that she almost felt as if she could hear it—or, more alarming by far, it was ricocheting around inside of her. “I got all up in there. Because I like kisses that matter. That require attention and commitment. Tongue, teeth, a moan or two. That’s how I am.”
Kate squeezed her eyes shut to block him out, but that made things worse. Because then she could do nothing but feel all that noise and nonsense inside her.
Her eyes snapped open again. She tried to focus and found herself frowning. “Stepping back from the appalling inappropriateness of this situation, you must realize that you’ve compromised this investigation.”
“You’re on leave,” he reminded her, settling into that relaxed lounge that drove her mad, because he was too big. He should have looked awkward. Stuffed in like a sardine in a can. And he . . . didn’t. “I didn’t compromise any ongoing investigation, because you’re not part of the investigation, and even if you were, you’re not investigating me. And if it was that inappropriate, you probably shouldn’t have kissed me back.”
She wanted to put her hands to her mouth to see if she could press all that sensation away somehow. Or make her mouth feel like hers again. She wanted to do something about the taste of him, like some kind of terrible whiskey on her tongue, intoxicating and wild. But that would give it all away, and Kate had already given far too much away.
“We’re done here,” she told him frostily.
She wrenched herself back around to face her steering wheel and threw the car into reverse. But then froze when his big hand appeared in her vision and wrapped around the steering wheel, too.
“We got sidetracked,” he rumbled from beside her. And around her. And in her, too, because he was that overwhelming. “But I didn’t come all the way to Juneau to sit in a car and get a taste of you, fun as that
is.”
“Apparently you came all the way to Juneau to chat about family history, the judicial system, and the possibility that I might be the focus of one or another group of malcontents. Or in other news, it’s just another Tuesday.”
“Do you find dead bodies every Tuesday?”
She forced herself to stop gritting her teeth. “Obviously not. That’s clearly an escalation, though I’m not convinced it’s aimed at me. I live here, not out in the islands where most of these suspicious activities occurred.”
“And now you’re on leave. And as we’ve already established, not about to surround yourself with the big, happy, gun-toting family to help keep you safe over the holidays. What are your plans?”
“If you’re inviting me over to watch Shawshank Redemption with you, Templeton, I’ll have to take a hard pass on that,” Kate managed to bite off, still glaring straight ahead at the city spread out along both sides of the channel far below them, sparkling in the dark. “I’m not sure I really understand the obsession men have with that particular movie, as I, personally, already know that prison is unpleasant and that I would not enjoy tunneling my way out through—”
“It’s okay that you’re dead inside,” Templeton interrupted her. “My concern is with you turning up dead, not movie dates. Because if someone is escalating a campaign with you at the center of it, you sitting all alone for the rest of the holiday season is pretty much begging them to take that as an invitation.”
Kate wanted to punch him for suggesting that she’d be sitting alone. Especially because it was true.
She focused on the other part instead of the urge toward violence—which, she had to admit deep down inside, no matter how she would prefer to pretend otherwise, could possibly be nothing more than an excuse to get her hands on him. “If someone does come for me, I’m more than capable of handling myself. Even if I hadn’t spent my entire adulthood in law enforcement, I was also raised by paranoid survivalists. I knew more about weapons and self-defense by the time I was five than most people will ever learn in their entire lifetimes.”
